


Good Directions

by CarryOnMyWaywardCastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, dean thinks he's cool and suave but we all know he's a dork, don't judge me i get my best ideas from songs shhh, junky cars and peaches, this is such gratuitous fluffy stuff, yes this is based on a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarryOnMyWaywardCastiel/pseuds/CarryOnMyWaywardCastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s never been one for ‘love at first sight,’ so he’s pretty sure this is more like ‘you look like an adorable grumpy angel and I sort of want to take you home and cook you dinner and possibly ask you to fuck me so please, please like men in some shape or form for the love of all that’s good and right in this world.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Directions

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as an anonymous ask fic in floralstiel's askbox on tumblr. I may or may not occasionally assault her with my continuous AU's and I find that I am not sorry.

Lazy summer days like today sit well with Dean. Sure, he likes to be busy, but lying here on the hood of his mom's truck with the sun shining warm down on him and a strong breeze ruffling his hair and just keeping the sweat away, he can't help but think he could use more days like this. He can practically feel new freckles popping up on his face and chest, but he doesn't mind. In fact, he's just drifting around in that cat-nap space when he hears the god-awful sound of a car in desperate need of some TLC (or maybe a one way trip to the scrap yard, either way it makes him cringe in sympathy), gunning it down the highway, missing every fifteen seconds or so.

He tries to ignore it and wait for the asshole responsible for interrupting his nap with their travesty of a vehicle to pass him by, but no such luck; he hears gravel crunching and their engine moaning as they pull off onto the soft shoulder where Dean's got his mom's peaches out on a stand, under the shade of a little tarped pavilion held firm against the wind by a couple sandbags. The slam of a car door seals his fate. It takes a lot of mental bitching to get motivated enough to force himself to his feet, but when he turns to see his sort-of potential customer standing awkwardly next to his fruit stand, overcoat (in a Mid Mo summer?) flapping in the wind, just _staring_ at him, he sort of drops the bitching.

Dean’s never been one for ‘love at first sight,’ so he’s pretty sure this is more like ‘you look like an adorable grumpy angel and I sort of want to take you home and cook you dinner and possibly ask you to fuck me so please, please like men in some shape or form for the love of all that’s good and right in this world.’ Instead of putting _that_ out there, Dean gives his most winning smile and shoves his hands in his jean pockets as he joins Grumpy under the shade of the pavilion.

“Can I help you?”

In a perfect world, this stupidly handsome blue-eyed, messy-haired stranger with his plush goddamn mouth and serious brow would give him a big smile and drop some flirty line that let Dean know he was fair game, and Dean’d drop one right back, and twenty minutes later they’d be making out on the back of the truck with the taste of peaches between them. Instead, he gives Dean a squinty, hating-the-world-right-now look and says, “I can’t find the interstate,” in the flattest tone known to man.

It’s with a heavy heart that Dean grudgingly gives him directions through his small town just visible at the end of the highway, but just when the man (Castiel, he at least gets that out of him) thanks him and turns to leave, Dean does something completely pathetic and dumb. “Hey, you know… On Mainstreet, right on your way, there’s this little restaurant, got a big sign that says ‘Harvelle’ over it. You gotta stop inside and ask Ellen for a slice of her cherry pie. Tell her I sent you, no charge. Then, you know, a left at the end of Main’ll take you to the interstate, but, uh, a right’ll bring you right back here to my handsome self.” He tacks on sheepish smile at the end, and god, he’s made such a fool of himself with that, he can feel his face heating up a little.

Castiel seems a little surprised, but not upset at Dean’s painfully obvious flirting. It might be Dean’s imagination, but he even seems a little pleased. He thanks Dean again, and leaves. Part of him wants to think maybe Cas will come back, but he knows that’s just wishful thinking, part of that ‘perfect world.’

It’s almost three hours later and he’s just securing the last ratchet strap of his load when he hears the most god awful motor in the world coming his way from town, and his heart swells up with hope, then bursts with the biggest grin when Cas pulls off the side of the road and steps out. He looks a little embarrassed, a little fidgety, and he’s holding a plate covered in plastic wrap.

“She gave me two, so I thought I’d share as further thanks. I apologize that it isn’t warm, but I decided to stop by the motel and took a bit longer than expected to unpack.” Cas smiles then, tentatively, not the sexy grin he pictured earlier, but there’s something there, and it looks like he might be staying for a while. Dean smiles back, because his world is a little perfect right now.


End file.
